


The Bedroom at the Burrow

by ziskandra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/pseuds/ziskandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred thought that death would be more exciting than an uncluttered bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bedroom at the Burrow

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted in 2007 at MuggleNet Fan Fiction.

Fred Weasley didn’t feel well at all. In fact, he felt as if a solid brick wall had crumbled on top of him. He rubbed his eyes blearily, wondering why his head was pounding so much. Cautiously, he cracked one eye open. He was at his room in the Burrow, the room he shared with George. There was something wrong with it, but he wasn’t quite sure what. He opened the other eye.

He could see George’s bed now and there was something plainly wrong about it. The covers were made. Fred knew that his mum had given up on making them clean their rooms a long time ago, preferring to leave the twins to their bangs and expulsions of smoke. Fred supposed that his Mum just thought that they liked the loud noises. Why, just last week he and George had been working on—

 _He couldn’t remember_. Where was George anyway? Slowly, he pushed himself into an upright sitting position, leaning on the wall for support. He couldn’t remember. Was it Ton-Tongue Toffees? He could remember George trying one clearly in his head, but another fuzzy image swam into his mind—a four-foot long tongue protruding from the mouth of a large Muggle boy he didn’t recognise…

Another concerning thought struck Fred. What year was it? He look up on the wall he was leaning on, looking for the familiar photography on his twelve-month Quidditch calendar, but it was gone.

Fred wondered where it could be. Then a shocking thought struck him—was he going crazy?

As soon as the idea ran through his mind, he started laughing and laughing and he found that he couldn’t stop. That settled it, he was certainly going crazy. He didn’t know how long he laughed for, if it was half an hour, an hour, a day, a month. It was as if the concept of time had ceased to exist at all.

Fred stood slowly, his limbs still aching. He move gradually and deliberately towards the door, but found that the handle wouldn’t turn. After giving it another tug or two, he stood there, grinning slightly. Sometimes George placed jinxes on the doorknob, to prevent him from entering the room. It was always a good laugh, and a chance for them to show off to each other.

George had never made it impossible for him to leave the room, however. This was a new trick, and he wasn’t prepared. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wand. It turned into a yellow canary.

Fred sighed at in exasperation. It was a wonderful gag; he had to admit, in fact, he thought it was a stroke of brilliance. Unfortunately, it was completely and utterly useless for breaking jinxes with. He checked the other pocket of his jeans, positive that it would be there. But it wasn’t.

“You know, George—” Fred started, but then he realised that George wasn’t there.

He wondered if it was dinner time soon, and he almost smelt the aroma of his mum’s roast chicken seeping through the crack under the door. He wrenched the door knob again, but it wouldn’t budge. Fred pounded it with his fists. “Damn it, George, why did you have to lock me in here?”

“Fred…why did you leave me all alone?” George asked. Fred whirled around. His brother, his twin was in the room with him. Had he been hiding the whole time?

But when he turned, he saw that the room was just as empty and as clean as it had been before.

“I’m getting married tomorrow. Percy’s going to be my best man. He’s certainly lightened up a bit, after what happened at the Battle of Hogwarts ten years ago, but I’d rather have you.” George let out a howling laugh. “Fred, you left me with Perce!”

At that point, Fred decided he had gone completely and utterly mental. George was definitely not old enough to be getting married! How old were they again? He wasn’t quite sure. How many candles had been on his last birthday cake? He remembered he wasn’t old enough for the Triwizard Tournament…he and George had sported beards after trying to cross the age line.

He gave up trying to figure out why his twin’s voice was sounding from the bedroom. George had probably come across some charm in one of the books they had been scouring. He went down on his hands and knees to retrieve the books from the obscured spot underneath his bed, but they weren’t there.

“She doesn’t even mind that I’m missing an ear. She told me it made me holey. She’s got the same sense of humour as you, Fred. Absolutely pathetic,” he said teasingly.

Fred wondered why George believed he was missing an ear. The last time he remembered seeing George, both his ears had been firmly attached to his head. Not that he had tried tugging them or anything.

“I certainly miss having someone complete my sentences for me,” George said.

Fred’s eyes widened in astonishment. Where was George? Why did he think he was all alone?

Since the door knob was still not working, he tried opening the window. But it stayed completely still, and no matter how much pried it with his fingers it did not move a single inch. He beat his fists on it, marveling at the fact that no matter how hard he bashed it that it never shattered. His arms still felt weak and sore, and soon he felt extremely tired. Maybe if he took a short nap, the whole situation would make more sense he woke up.

~*~

He slept peacefully for quite a while, but when he awoke again, he realised that everything still made little sense to him. He lay peacefully looking at the back of his eyelids for a little while, wondering why he couldn’t hear the sound of his own rhythmic breathing. He supposed he was just breathing very very quietly.

“I named him Fred. He looks a lot like you, you know. Funnily enough, he looks quite a bit like me as well.”

Fred jumped at the sound of the voice, but then remembered it was coming from his brother, who was still nowhere to be seen.

“It’s quite fashionable to name children after dead family members. Harry and Ginny have a little boy called James Sirius, and another one called Albus Severus. Don’t know why he named him after the greasy git, but Harry maintains that Snape saved his life…”

Fred, however, had stopped listening after the word _dead_. 

_Dead_. Is that what happened to him? How had he died? He shut his eyes briefly, as if expecting the skies to swallow him whole and take him beyond now that he had realised what had occurred. But nothing transpired. He was still in his room at the Burrow.

Was this the end then? Was this…was this death? It couldn’t be…surely death had to be more exciting than an uncluttered bedroom. Fred swallowed. Why wasn’t George with him? Surely they would have died together. He held his head in hands. Why couldn’t he remember his death? Vague memories ran through his mind: a swamp, covering one of the corridors at Hogwarts, George, still smiling even though one side of his head was covered in dark blood, a battle at Hogwarts, colorful jets of light flying in all different directions.

He bolted upright. He recalled what had happened now. A corridor had been blasted apart; a wall had collapsed on him. He sat down, shuddering. Somehow, knowing the circumstances of his demise didn’t seem as traumatising as it should have been.

He consoled himself in the fact that at least things made a little more sense now. He was dead, which meant that nothing had to be logical. He was locked in his bedroom, George was on the other side, and he had a strong craving for roasted chicken.

He sighed. Being dead was rather boring. There wasn’t even anyone to tell jokes to. He could try telling them to himself, but they weren’t just as hilarious when he already knew the punch line. In fact, the only thing that he could really do was sleep. He tried to pull the covers back on his bed, but he could not shift them. It was really strange, he reflected, that he couldn’t manipulate the objects in the room. It was as if they were not fully real. He sighed and resigned himself to lying on top of the bed. He closed his eyes and slept some more.

~*~

“I’m getting old, Fred.” George’s voice sounded as weary and as lethargic as Fred’s body felt. “It’s been so long.” Fred agreed with this sentiment. It had been so very long since he had heard George’s voice in his bedroom.

“I think…I think that I will be joining you soon.”

Fred jumped up and peered out the window. It was a sunny day, a perfect day for a game of Quidditch. He hadn’t ridden a broom in so long…and now George was coming, any moment now. He keenly observed the rambling paths that led to the Burrow from the village.

He wasn’t really quite sure what he should be on the lookout for. George had mentioned that he was old, but Fred couldn’t really imagine his twin as an aged man.

There was no activity outdoors. No matter how long Fred sat there with his nose pressed against the window he didn’t even see the leaves rustle. The clouds didn’t move. The sun did not set, night never graced the skies. Had George been lying? Had he been fully intending on leaving him all alone, locked in this bedroom?

He sighed, and turned away from the window. It was not fair. George was of the opinion that he, Fred, had left him. But really, it was the other way round. George had left him. George had been the one to lead a full life; he was the one who had been married, the one who had fathered children. He had promised to come back, but it was starting to become obvious that he was not going to return. He closed his eyes, refusing to be sad, refusing to dwell on the truth, refusing to believe the worst of his brother. He slept some more.

~*~

“Fred? Fred? Are you here?” George’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. Fred stood rooted to the spot. George had come.

Something thumped the door. Fred heard a few muffled curses. “Let me in, you prat.”

Fred swallowed a lump in his throat. “I can’t. The door’s locked.”

“Try using the key.”

“What key?” Fred asked suspiciously.

“You closed me out,” said George, somewhat woundingly. “I thought that you would be happy to see me again, after all these years. You have to let me into your heart, you ars—”

“Wait a moment,” Fred interrupted. “This is my _heart_? George, I know you’re most likely a senile old dingbat now, but you’re making this all up.”

“Well, I suppose it’s a part of you. Whether it is your heart, mind or buttocks is completely up to your own discretion.”

Fred ignored this. “George…” Fred asked curiously, “What do you see?”

“I see a door floating in the middle of nowhere. Are you sure that you didn’t hide the key somewhere?”

“There’s no _key_. Besides, how do you know you’re in the middle of nowhere? You could just as easily be in the front of nowhere, in the behin—”

“Listen, Fred. I’m sorry that I left you here, locked behind this door, all alone. I’m sorry that you felt that you had to wait for me. But, I do not regret that you did.”

“Why?” asked Fred.

“Why?” said George. “Why? You have to ask why? Because the journey to the afterlife would be boring without you.”

Fred felt a great surge of happiness and something appeared in the air in front of him. It was a small metallic object, the right shape and size to fit in the keyhole that had mysteriously appeared in the door knob. He unlocked the door and saw George’s grinning face appear on the other side. He was not old; in fact, he looked just like the last time Fred had seen him, except that he had both his ears.

“George, your ear is back!” Fred couldn’t resist giving it a gentle pull, to make sure it was indeed firmly attached.

George winked. “It’s one of the perks of being dead.”

Fred removed the key from the lock, turning it over in his hands. “Blimey, George, when you started on this whole ‘key’ business, I thought you were—”

“…just being figurative?” George finished for him.

Fred grinned.

George stepped into the room and Fred closed the door behind him. They sat down side by side on George’s bed, the bright blanket became wrinkled. “So, fill me on this whole death thing. Is it deadly boring?”

Fred groaned. “George, that was horrible.”

George smirked. “I know.”

“So…is it?” George asked inquisitively.

“Is what?” Fred replied.

“Is being dead boring?”

Fred felt the grin on his face stretching. He wondered if it should hurt to be smiling this much. “Not anymore,” he answered. He shut his eyes contentedly and when he opened them again, the room at the Burrow was gone.


End file.
